


Everything Becomes Unmade

by calrissian18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, Implied Character Death, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Polyjuice Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:19:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have a funeral for Scorpius's father seven years after he goes missing. He almost doesn't go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Becomes Unmade

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 12 of daisychain_drab. I cheated on my pair so effing bad!
> 
> I used the prompt(s): Funeral, Garden, Breakfast, Coffee. Really the only one I left alone was Wedding. Let's all breathe a sigh of relief over that, yeah?

 

They have a funeral for Scorpius' father seven years after he goes missing. He almost doesn't go. It feels like a betrayal. If there's one thing Scorpius knows: it's that you don't give up on a Malfoy. And that's precisely what this is.

His mother sniffles at his side and Al's hand molds tighter around his lax fingers, pushing and digging into his skin like it's wet clay. He _knows_ in a way he doesn't want to that his father must be gone. He wouldn't have left voluntarily and no one keeps someone as mouthy as Draco Malfoy around for all those years.

He's dead. Scorpius knew it six years ago. He still thinks the funeral is in bad taste.

He thinks from the look on Mr. Potter's face, he might agree. He clears his throat and pulls Albus away by the wrist during the wake. Al's fingers reluctantly slip away from Scorpius'. Mr. Potter shifts uncomfortably on his feet. "Your father was a good man," he says gruffly. "I'm not sure he ever knew it." The last words sound wondering and sad.

Scorpius hasn't really seen him since the night he glimpsed him and his father in the study. Mr. Potter had his fingers twisted up in his father's robes, holding him by the shoulders, shoving him back into a bookcase while he subdued him with his mouth.

He'd slipped his hand behind his father's neck, tilted it back and the slot of their mouths became less of a war and more of a promise. Until his father pushed Mr. Potter away. "Astoria is aware of my dalliances," his father had said and his voice was strong and confident and everything Scorpius wanted to be when he was older. "I'm assuming Ginevra can't say the same." And his father just _knew_ things because he was clever and cunning.

"I shouldn't have—" Mr. Potter started but he was still staring at his father's mouth, slick with the saliva from his.

"No, you shouldn't have," his father said smartly. And Scorpius grinned at the sharp certainty of his tone. His father turned to leave and Mr. Potter grabbed his wrist.

"I don't know what it is about you," he said desperately.

His father smiled, slow and soft and genuine, and Mr. Potter offered the same smile back. It was a smile that spoke to something shared. It was a smile that said there was something between them neither of them understood but that had them chasing after each other all the same.

His father left the room and Mr. Potter rubbed at his forehead, his lips, before Flooing away. Three weeks later, his father was gone.

"I'm sorry about your dad," Albus says, up in his bedroom after everyone has filtered away. His mom has taken something to calm her, even so she's still crying. She loved his dad and he loved her. Scorpius had never really understood how they worked, he only knew that they did.

Scorpius shrugs. "He's been gone for years. Today— _this_ , it was all for my mom. So she could finally let him go."

"Have you?"

Scorpius huffs out a laugh that isn't. "I won't." He looks over at Al helplessly. "He's my dad."

Al looks up at him, earnest, doe-eyed. "If there's anything I can do," he says and Scorpius knows he means it. Al loves him, for reasons he doesn't understand now and probably never will.

Scorpius stares down at his hands. "Did you know our dads kissed once?" His gaze flicks over to Albus and pins him. "I saw them in the study."

Al's cheeks go red and he mumbles, "I know my dad was— _is_ —in love with yours. I'm pretty sure my mom knows it too." There's an unspoken 'now' in that last sentence. "He has a Pensieve of your dad under his bed. It's just memories of him from when they were in school together." And it's not hard to figure out what he might be using that for. "Since he's gone missing, it's—he works the case practically night and day."

It's strange to think Scorpius has so much in common with Al's dad. "I remember my life without him more than I remember my life with him," Scorpius says quietly, flopping back on his bed. "I admired him so much and I wanted—I loved that he was my dad, you know? That I got to learn from him, that he was the man in my life, the role model I'd gotten. There was nothing about him I didn't love, that I didn't want to emulate."

Scorpius sighs. He misses his dad. Again. Forever. Whatever it is. All he knows is it never really goes away.

He sits up suddenly and turns to Al. "I know what I want you to do."

It takes three days for Albus to agree to it and even then Scorpius can tell he's only doing it because it's a chance for the both of them to get something they otherwise wouldn't. Something they both desperately want.

* * *

His grandparents decide to take his mother to their property in Spain. She's not well, not _right_ since she's admitted Scorpius' father is gone. They were best friends, he was the only person she trusted— _loved_ —outside of her sister and her son and loss is not something she's ever dealt with well. Scorpius declines the invitation.

He's strolling along the walk in the garden, the calla lilies bending in to meet his every step, when he sees him. He's straight-backed and tall. His hair is haloed in the sun, silver-blond trickling down to his shoulders. His jaw is strong and tight and severe and Scorpius' breath catches in his chest.

"Hi," Scorpius says to the squared shoulders and he may be nineteen but he feels twelve all over again.

Draco Malfoy turns. His eyes are arctic but the ice in them thaws the way it always did when he laid eyes on his son.

His father's still nearly two inches taller than him and it irks Scorpius that he hasn't closed that distance yet, and now probably never will. Scorpius reaches out and curls his fingers around his father's, who frowns down at their clasped hands but doesn't pull away. They were never physically affectionate to this degree but if Scorpius had known he would have lost him, he would have pushed for more.

He leads his father inside, sits him down for tea. His father chooses coffee the way he always did when he was stressed. They eat breakfast and Scorpius talks to him about his future plans because he doesn't know what they are or what they should be. He'd thought about Quidditch but his father always seemed to think of it as more of a hobby than a career.

"I was never one for Potions either," Scorpius says, buttering a scone. He pulls a face. "Uncle Severus would be rolling over in his grave, I know." He pushes back in his seat, presses his toes into the ball of his father's ankle. "I certainly don't want a Ministry position."

His father shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Scorpius trails his foot up the side of his shin. "You've time to figure it out," he says, clearing his throat. "There's no need to rush it."

Scorpius shrugs. "The longer I'm jobless, the more people will think I only mean to spend my days as a rich layabout."

His father's fingers tap out a predictable rhythm on the tabletop. "I wasn't aware you cared what people might think of you." And his lips twist, disappointed.

"I suppose I don't," Scorpius says carefully and his toes are creeping up the inseam of his father's trousers. "I care what you think of me. I always have," he adds earnestly, pressing his foot over his father's cock.

He draws in a sharp inhale and his eyes flutter closed. He's already half-hard. It's all Scorpius can do to keep his head above the table when he wants more than anything to crawl underneath it and swallow his father down.

"I think about you all the time," he says, trying to catch his father's eye.

His chest has swelled around trapped breath and it's obviously an effort for him to keep his noises to himself. The heel of Scorpius' foot smooths over the trapped and hot length of him. He's still puffed up when he gasps out, almost reprimanding, "In ways you obviously shouldn't."

Scorpius curls his hand around his father's chin, skims his fingers up behind the catch of his jaw, twists them around the curve of his ear and plays in the silk-soft strands of his hair. His skin is velvety, smooth, warm and _alive_. "I can feel the pump of your blood," Scorpius tells him before he pulls him in.

His father starts so violently that he knocks over his chair. And that's so very unlike him. Scorpius' eyes darken and he stands as well. He pulls his father in by the small of his back. It feels possessive and winning. He curls strong fingers around his father's wrists and drags him close. He catches the plump lower lip in his mouth and kisses hard, bites the way he thinks his father would like.

His father groans and presses back just as firmly until their kissing is more like attacking. Scorpius slides his palms around his father's neck and tilts his head to suit his wants. His father lets him and Scorpius wishes he knew if that was real. If his father would let him take control or steal it back.

He slips his tongue in, licks into his father's mouth with vigor. It feels like hours before he pulls away again but he knows it hasn't been. He rests his forehead against his dad's and licks his lips. "I miss you," he says, breathing hard. And this feels like the most important thing he's ever done. Ever will do.

His father is just as out of breath. "I love you," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of Scorpius' mouth.

Scorpius hums a noncommittal sound and says, "I want to ride you," while watching the rise and fall of his father's chest with a glazed look. He pushes him back and it's only his father's estimable balance that keeps them from crashing to the floor. It's more of a frenzied tangle of limbs that lowers them, clumsily and desperately.

Scorpius strips his father of his robes before tearing out of his own and he's dry humping him, slowly and teasingly and strong hands grip his hips. "I wanted this. When I was _ten_ and I didn't know what _this_ was. When I was twelve and I laid eyes on you for the last time." Tears well in Scorpius' eyes and his face contorts as he tries to hold them back. He stares down at his father's - at Draco's face - and _misses_ him with everything he has. "When I was thirteen and I wanked for the first time. When I was sixteen and I wanted a relationship, a _partner_. When I went to your funeral yesterday," and he's lost the fight with his tears and he's crying messily, snottily, like he hasn't done since he was a kid, "and I just wanted my dad."

A familiar hand carefully brushes away the trail of wetness from his cheeks. "I'm here." It's croaked but solid.

Scorpius lays down on his father's chest, buries his nose in his neck and breathes him in. He smells like his soap, his shampoo, his skin. He smells like everything that's been missing for seven years. "I just want my dad," Scorpius says again because that's what it is. That's what it's always been and he'd always thought it was so much more complex than that. But he misses his dad. Has missed his dad. _Will_ miss his dad.

He slips down the length of his torso, drags down the waistband of his pants and nuzzles into the base of his cock. It's pale and his thatch of blond hair is a soft scrub against his cheek and he's just as large as Scorpius has always imagined him. Scorpius had only seen him hard before through his trousers, had seen the thick length of him resting against his thigh while his father laughed in the study with Uncle Blaise, dark hands skimming up his father's side in time with the white flash of their teeth. He'd tugged hard enough in their playfulness to pull down the top of his trousers and Scorpius had been able to see the top of his cock, the veins and the girth of it and he'd known nothing else was going to come close.

He slides his parted lips up and down the length of his father, feels the heat and smoothness of him against his mouth. He breathes through his nose, letting out hot air that puffs into his skin. Long fingers tighten in his hair. "I'll come. _Scorpius_. I'll come if you don't stop."

Scorpius' tongue flicks out and licks a stripe across his dick, laves at the tip. "I've hardly done anything yet."

"This is all it takes from you," his father says gruffly.

Scorpius' hands curve around the small of his father's back as he moves back up, leans in to pull his father's lower lip in between his teeth and he tastes sweet and _good_. Scorpius' hand reaches behind him, strokes up and down his father's impressive cock, twists around the head and scoots back so it presses against the hollow of his back. "Will you let me?"

His father's eyes are glassy and he bucks against the velvet-soft skin he's held against. "Anything you want, Scorpius. _Anything_."

Scorpius pushes up on his knees, sinks back down on his father's cock with a held breath and it's large and nearly too much and in nineteen years he's never fucked anyone but some Ravenclaw bird in his sixth year. He digs his fingers into his father's hips to keep him still as he does all the work, fucking himself on his father's cock.

Hands smooth up either side of his spine and hold him close and he rotates his hips, circles slow on his father's dick and it's _deep_ inside him and he _feels_ him there and for one shining and perfect moment he really hasn't lost him. He leans back, curls his fingers over his father's ankles and fucks down and back into him hard.

His cock is already close to bursting, red and straining against his stomach and his father's hands are on him, haven't let him go. And they won't. "I love you, Daddy," Scorpius gasps, his father finally driving back into him, hitting something inside him that makes his limbs turn limp and boneless and something white explode behind his eyes and he keeps closing them and he's missing him, he's _missing_ his father while trying to savor the moments with him.

Strong fingers close around the base of his cock, grip him, slide up and milk him and Scorpius climaxes before he can wrap his head around it. He slams down harder and harder on his dad, pounding his orgasm out of him and when he comes, held deep inside Scorpius' clenching body, it's everything he'd imagined it would be.

Scorpius slides down on top of him, moves his hands up his father's torso and sighs as he rests his cheek against the strong chest beneath him. Scorpius stays that way for too long, before the picture beneath him changes, before he realizes he can't keep it, that it will slip through his fingers like rain. He rolls away, staring up at the vaulted ceiling of their dining room and breathes out sharply. It twists through his chest painfully.

The body next to him shifts, twitches.

Scorpius sighs, throws his hand over his eyes because he doesn't want to see anymore. "Go, Al," he says softly, defeated. "Before— _Go_."

He doesn't see him move but he hears him gathering his things, moving slow like he expects Scorpius will call him back. He won't. And he's sure at least a part of Al knows it. It takes him longer than it should to leave the room and Scorpius lies there and tries to hold onto the idea of his dad, there for him, inside him, all around him.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Breathes deep. And misses his father.


End file.
